Welcome to the World
by Salinger
Summary: My take on BtVS season7...and on Spike's new soul...


Welcome to the World

Written by Salinger

Author's note: This is a Spuffy fic if there ever was one. If you aren't into all that then I suggest you just keep on moving 'cause you won't like it. This is also my first fic on this site, so I would greatly appreciate all reviews. Constructive criticism is good for you, after all (and compliments are even better!) 

The car gave out about thirty miles from its destination. Spike wasn't a bit surprised; on the contrary, he hadn't expected it to last that long. He had picked it up in Seattle, a battered white Mustang tucked away in the far corner of the enormous pay parking lot. It hadn't taken much work to jimmy the lock and hotwire the engine, and it had saved him several hundred miles of footwork. He had just spent two weeks in the bowels of an oil vessel, voyaging from Africa to America with a few stops in between; he was in no mood to hoof it. Despite the shiny new soul, Spike wasn't worried about stealing the car. His new conscience allowed him to more easily distinguish between right and wrong, but it did not prevent him from rationalizing his wrongdoings. When it came to stealing the car he felt it was the way things simply had to be. He had to get home, and hitchhiking wasn't an option because it was too time consuming, so was walking. He couldn't be out after daylight and, because there were no guarantees that there would be a motel handy when the sun rose, stealing the car seemed his only option. Anyway, the way he saw it, he hadn't stolen a car anyone could be overly attached to. In fact, he was probably doing them a favor by taking this dingy, beat up lemon off their hands; now they could by a decent machine with the insurance money from the stolen car. It was a victimless crime. And the car had done extremely well; it hadn't broken down once on the journey from Washington state to southern California. When it finally died on the side of the road Spike wasn't worried. Thirty miles was not a great distance and he had most of the night ahead of him.

Four hours and three very accommodating motorists later, Spike was closing in on his objective. He was on foot now, had been since his last ride, a truck driver, had dropped him off at a weigh station five miles back. It was a little after three o'clock in the morning and there were no more prospective rides for him, but Spike didn't mind. The road was flat and still; his eager feet ate up the miles effortlessly. Every sign that told him he was growing closer accelerated his pace that much more. In fact, the only time he stopped during that five mile trek was when he finally saw it, the testimonial to the end of his crusade. A sign, both in body and in spirit, that told him he was home. When Spike saw it he stopped dead in his tracks to stare at it triumphantly, to read the words with loving enthusiasm: Welcome to Sunnydale.

+++++++++++++++++++

For the first time since her mother had died, Buffy Summers was completely, utterly happy.

It was strange, even to her, that this would be the case. So much had happed over the summer, so many things had changed—and not necessarily for the better. Tara was dead; Willow was struggling to cope with that as well as with her addiction to magic and her guilt over her recent behavior. Anya and Xander had gone their separate ways, seemingly for good. Anya was now living in parts unknown, running the Magic Box when she wasn't busy with her new (or old?) job as a vengeance demon. Xander still resided in the apartment they had once shared. He had been promoted at work and was still basking in pride at being the one to pull Willow back from the brink of madness, saving the world from her rage in the process. Yet there was something in his eyes that told Buffy he wasn't happy, not even a little bit. She knew he missed Anya, but he refused to talk about it with anyone, even Willow. He dropped in frequently, laughing, joking, as always. But there was a wistful look in his eyes that had not been there before, a tendency for nostalgia that told Buffy he was disappointed with his life and the direction it was taking.

It seemed everyone was struggling that summer, struggling to find themselves, to make up for past mistakes. But as wearying and burdensome as the struggle was, there was a hope in them all that had not been there before. Everyone, even Willow, seemed to possess a hope that buoyed them up even at their lowest point and gave meaning to the struggle. The change was such a subtle one, Buffy doubted any of her comrades even noticed it, much less attempted to define it. She herself didn't need to try. The change was an obvious one: Giles had come home.

All of them knew he wasn't back for good. He never said so, of course, but there was something in his eyes that they all understood. He had come home to take care of them until they were ready to take care of themselves; he was not home to stay. He hinted as much to Buffy on his first night back, admitting to her that leaving had been a mistake. "I was afraid, so afraid, I was doing you a grave injustice," he told her. "I thought I was taking a strong individual and teaching her how to depend on others, taking away her independence. Perhaps I was. But I left without giving you a chance to adjust. All of you looked to me for guidance; I had never taught you how to look to yourselves for answers. I left without teaching you and look what became of everything."

"It wasn't your fault," she had said, and she had immediately felt a bit stupid. In a way it was his fault and they both knew it.

"Yes it was, Buffy," he sighed. "I did you a wrong by giving you money and allowing you to lean on me…but I did you an even greater wrong when I left. I threw you to the wolves with no knowledge of the world, with no real means to support yourself." He looked at her and his jaw squared with a sudden determination. "It won't happen again, I can assure you. I won't leave again until I am entirely certain you are ready to be on your own."

True to his word, Giles moved into the Summers' home the following day. It was a bit crowded, and he had to sleep on the sofa in the den since there were no bedrooms available, but he said it was good for his back and wouldn't hear of anyone else giving up her place. In a matter of hours he had taken all of Buffy's biggest worries and reduced them to a neat, single-spaced list of chores which was kept pinned to the refrigerator. He arranged for the bills to be paid by automatic withdrawal from the account that held his earnings from the Magic Box. He prodded Buffy to register for school, reminding her that a single year lost was nothing out of a lifetime. She quit her job at the Doublemeat Palace and signed up for a full course load. Four days a week she taught a self-defense class in her training room at the Magic Box to help pay for her books and tuition, but the rest of the money came from student loans which she would pay back after graduation. Giles put Dawn on a similar schedule of school and work. She had a list of chores to do in the afternoons which earned her a small weekly income for clothes and makeup and movies. Both girls flourished on the average, uneventful days which began to blend easily with nights spent patrolling. Everything seemed so easy now it was hard to imagine that only three months ago they were in constant down spiral. Even Willow began to come around once school started.

Of course life was not perfect. Buffy still had the problem of too much to do in a small amount of time, but without the constant worry over bills and siblings, she managed it much better. In fact, in that wonderful, restful summer, there was only one tiny fly buzzing in her ointment of happiness—and it was one she had never even imagined.

She missed Spike.

How laughable it was to think about it! So many times she had tried to get rid of him, so many times she had wished he were dead. Now he was gone and she ached for him to return. Even after the incident in the bathroom she longed for him. In fact, in the hindsight of several months she could see her own blame in the situation. She had liked him to be rough before, she had even asked for it; it wasn't really entirely his fault that he didn't know to take no for an answer. In the rare tender moments of their lovemaking, when his eyes and his hands had softened with affection, she had pushed him away. His fondness for her made her uneasy, it trapped her, made her too vulnerable. She tried to escape the vulnerability by keeping him at arm's length. She abused him and baited him, urging him to do the same, playing on an already confused sense of morality until the only way he knew to show his affection was to mistreat her. She had accepted that form of expression in the past; it was understandable that he would expect her to welcome it always. The scene in the bathroom proved this. She spurned him, so he tried to force her. 

Buffy knew he hadn't meant to rape her; sex was a means to an end for him, but not his objective. He was trying to make her love him and because of the lessons taught to him before—not just by her but by Drusilla as well—he thought he could achieve that by forcing himself on her. He was wrong to do it, but Buffy was now able to see she wasn't entirely blameless in the situation. And she knew he had felt remorse for it. After she kicked him off her, after she threw the biting comment about never loving him, she had seen in his eyes how horrible he felt about it. She would have liked to believe that if she hadn't gotten away on her own he would have come to his senses and stopped before the deed was done, but she really couldn't. He was like a child that couldn't see the wrong in his crime until after he had been punished for it. As hard as he tried, his conscience was simply not developed enough to sense the wrong in an act until after it was done and he could see the consequences.

Despite all that had happened between them Buffy missed Spike. She missed his wry observations about life, his mocking laughter—even his temper tantrums. She missed the fact that, no matter how angry he was at her, she could always count on him to come through for her in a pinch. She missed those incredibly British pet names he had given her, and the incredibly British way with which he said them. She was angry with him still—angry at his betrayal of her trust, angry that he had left town immediately afterward. Sometimes the thought of it made her so angry she thought she hated him. Yet always at these moments of anger, unbidden, came the memory of his face when he saw her for the first time after her resurrection. That naked, hopeful, incredibly wounded look—a look she would see again and again throughout the following months. There was no humanity in him: he was an evil thing, a demon that's very nature was to destroy.

And he loved her.

And the really strange thing was she thought she might even love him back.

++++++++++++++++++

"Buffy?"

Buffy, standing by the kitchen door, gazing out into nothing, jumped at the sound of Giles' voice. She turned to him quickly, trying to cover her discomfiture with a smile. "Giles, you're home early."

"Yes, well, there was really very little to do at the shop. It appears the numbers are better than ever with Anya at the helm and, as she so eloquently put it, why tamper with a good thing?" He cleared his throat then asked, "What are you doing in here?"

"Nothing," she said, glancing out the door. "I was just looking out and, you know, pondering life."

He smiled. "You have a lot to ponder there, I should say. It has been a very eventful year for you, hasn't it?"

"A very eventful several years you mean." She flashed a quick grin at him but quickly moved on to more serious subjects. "Do you think we handled everything right, Giles?"

"By everything I assume you mean the things with Willow?" he asked. She nodded and he went on, "Covering up for Willow's crimes was really the only things to be done, Buffy. The things she did were…horrible…to say the least, but she was acting from grief and rage and intoxication of power. I hate to say this, but even though the taking of a human life is never an acceptable thing, I can understand why she felt the need to do so in this case. Warren was a destructive force in his own right; he senselessly took two human lives—would have taken more had he had better aim at you. I would hate to see Willow's life ruined because of him."

"So would I," she sighed. "But Giles the things she did…sometimes when I think about them I have a hard time…being with her. She was my best friend and now…now I look at her and I wonder what she is capable of."

Giles slid a comforting arm around her shoulders. "I know it feels strange to be with her now, Buffy. I understand. But you have to learn to let go of resentment and fear. There is the capability for evil in all of us and sometimes circumstances make it difficult to see that evil for what it really is. Willow made a mistake, a horrible mistake that she can never really atone for. She has to live with her guilt and for a person as caring and gentle as Willow that is a considerable burden."

"But do you think there are some things that can't ever be forgiven?" Buffy asked. She wasn't really referring to Willow this time but Giles didn't know it.

"I don't think so," he told her. "Resentment is like hate: it usually strengthens with time. It feeds on itself until it demands revenge, and in the end it will destroy you as well the person you seek to destroy. It's much better to work at letting go of your anger than to maintain it. I think Willow learned that lesson the hard way."

She smiled at him. "You know, Giles, sometimes you can be really smart."

He tried to look stern, but she saw the twinkling of laughter in his eyes when he said, "It's about time somebody noticed."

+++++++++++++++++++

News traveled fast in a small town and traveled even faster in the demon underground of small town. Spike had barely gotten three miles into the Sunnydale city limits before he learned about the wicked witch who had gone on a bender and nearly destroyed the town three months before. He learned that the witch was Rack's special pet, "Strawberry" as he called her, and that she was responsible for killing him. He learned that she had taken apart the police station brick by brick trying to remove two prisoners from its walls, and that, later, she had attempted to raise a satanic temple in order to destroy the world. What he didn't learn was that the witch was Willow, and that she had tried to destroy Buffy as well as the earth.

He didn't make the connection right away. Rack was a demon on a completely different level than he was, and he knew very few of the pusher's clients. He had known vaguely that Willow had some relationship to Rack, but the last Spike heard Willow had given up magic completely, so the name "Strawberry" didn't ring any particular bells with him, nor did the fact that she was a witch. There were certainly other witches in Sunnydale, both good witches and…not so good witches. Since Spike had always known Willow to be on the sunnier side of the street he had no reason to suspect her of being involved. It wasn't until he reached his crypt that he heard the whole story.

Clem had been staying in the mausoleum all summer, guarding it against potential claim jumpers and he was there when Spike walked in the door. Naturally, he wasted no time in telling the whole story, eager to relate his part in it.

Spike didn't hear anything after the words "that kid…Warren, I think his name was…he shot Buffy…" The moment he heard those words something broke in him and he grabbed Clem by the throat, shoving the softer demon into the stone wall.

"Did he hurt her? Did he kill her? Tell me, damn you, or I'll—"

"He didn't kill her!" gasped Clem. "He didn't even hurt her too bad. She's all better now. But a stray bullet struck her roommate's friend and she died."

Relieved, Spike released his hapless comrade. "Roommate?" he asked. "What roommate?"

"The girl with the red hair." Clem coughed, then added, "The one who has such powerful magic."

"Willow? The bullet struck Willow's friend…" Spike was quiet a minute, piecing the words together until he reached his conclusion. "Tara." 

He stared at Clem so hard the other demon backed away. "Don't choke me again, Spike!"

"I'm not going to choke you, you fool. Just tell me—was Willow the one who killed Rack?"

Clem nodded. "And Warren."

"And Warren," Spike muttered. He blinked. "And she wanted to destroy Sunnydale?"

"She wanted to destroy the whole world. The Slayer tried to stop her, but Willow was too powerful."

"So…what happened? Did they kill her?"

"No. She stopped. I don't know why, but she changed her mind and she just…stopped. Now she's the same as before."

"Living with Buffy?"

Clem nodded.

"That fucking figures," Spike growled. "I make one little mistake and I get cut out forever; Red there, she tries to nix the entire planet and everything is still la-dee-freakin'-da. Just shows where _her priorities are."_

"Whose priorities?"

Spike ignored him. "I've got to go."

"But you just got here!" Clem called after him as Spike disappeared through the door. Where are you going?"

"To see if she's all right."

++++++++++++++++++++

Buffy was just leaving the house to patrol when he arrived. She passed within inches of him, but Spike was too experienced at hiding to be seen without his wanting to be seen. He slid behind the maple tree at the edge of her lawn, watching as she marched off along the darkened street, her bag of weapons slung over her shoulder. She looked a lot happier than she did when he had left. That he hadn't expected. Given what Clem had told him, Spike had assumed the Scoobies would be a pretty miserable lot at the moment. Buffy, however, looked to be in a fine mood; she was even humming under her breath as she walked.

Relieved, if somewhat bewildered, Spike moved out from behind his tree and made ready to go. Just as he did, however, the front door of the Summers' house squeaked open and two people stormed out of it, arguing loudly. Spike dove back behind his tree.

"I just don't understand why you feel you can't talk to me!" Spike recognized the plaintive female voice right away as Anya's. "I'm just as intelligent and thoughtful as your precious Buffy!"

"It isn't that I can't talk to you…" The male voice was one Spike knew very well, but it sounded so tired and ragged he hardly recognized it.

"Then what?" Anya  pressed. "Why do you constantly put her before me?"

"We have a special bond…I've known her ever since she moved here…"

"I've known you ever since I moved here," Anya said, her tone softer. "I don't want to fight, I really don't. But you have spent every waking minute with her since you got back; I haven't even gotten to see you."

"There is a reason for that beyond my time spent with Buffy and you know it."

Spike leaned around the tree slightly, watched as Anya hung her head. "I don't see why you keep worrying about that—it was nothing. Less than nothing."

"It was wrong."

There was a long silence—so long Spike was beginning to think they had gone back inside. Then the male voice spoke again. "Why did you do it, Anya?"

"Do what?" she asked wearily. "Go to D'hoffryn? Why do you think I went? I was hurt. Everything had fallen apart and no one took my side at all…I needed someone to fall back on, so I called him. He told me I was too good to be human and I…"

"You what?" he asked gently.

"It was a nice thing to hear, that I was good…I guess in a way I did it to prove I _was too good. I did it out of spite."_

"The same way you slept with Spike out of spite?"

"Don't get all sanctimonious on me about that!" she snapped. "You were gone, I had been humiliated in front of everyone I knew…Spike was there and I was lonely. It was as simple as that. Spite had nothing to do with it."

Spike, by now thoroughly interested, leaned even farther out from his tree. He could see very well from this vantage point, but it looked as though Anya was crying.

"Hold me," she whispered, "just for a little bit."

They were now wrapped together in an embrace so intimate it was only a matter of time before they were completely entwined, their lips enmeshed.

It lasted only a moment before he pushed her away, crying hoarsely, "No! We can't—"

"Why?" she asked. "You want to—I know you want to. Why can't we?"

"Because it isn't right!" Giles said.

++++++++++++++++++++

End of Chapter One

Please Review


End file.
